


Encounters of the Cosmic Twins

by aba_daba_do



Series: The Demon and the Exorcist [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aba_daba_do/pseuds/aba_daba_do
Summary: Hey if you're seeing this and have no idea what Transcendence AU is, don't start here! You'll be confused. Check out my series or check out the AU's Tumblr blog to learn more.
Series: The Demon and the Exorcist [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679269
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57
Collections: TAU Discord Recs





	1. The First Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fang returns home to pack her things.

“Pack your things.” The CPS representative held out a garbage bag, slick and shiny like an oil spill in the ocean. Fang dug fingers into the already pilling black sweater she had been given (as it was the only thing she wore for a week) and rubbed the toe of her boot against her calf, the scratchy fabric of the sweatpants she found (leftover merchandise from the Memorial Library) rubbing against her skin. Not wearing her own clothes was hard enough, but she did not realize how even more unpleasant it would be Child Protective Services called with the news that the demonologist department had finished their investigation of the house and that she was now free to remove some of her belongings. The representative had picked her up at the Shack, which was instructed to remain immobile for the day while its legs were glamored out of sight. 

Fang sucked in a breath. The house didn’t smell the same. Usually it smelled like dust, leather, and rancid demonic residue left behind from her parents’ boots. Now the house smelled a little like plastic and unfamiliar chemicals. Taking the garbage bag, she peeled the interior apart with her fingers, the static pulling between the plastic. The echo of her heart rammed up her spine and into her ears. 

The demon beside her gestured at the bag in distaste. “Wait. Seriously? They’re only giving you a garbage bag! How are you supposed to pack everything?” His voice had that faint echo of the mindscape, a soft reverb like shouting across your neighborhood early in the morning before anyone else had woken up just to hear your voice bounce back at you. He looked different than usual too. He was wearing an off-orange t-shirt and a pair of shorts, his messy hair curling up like little bat wings. It was a stark difference from the black suit she was used to him wearing, though it seemed like an act of good faith that he broke down his exterior to appear more human and approachable. 

And who was she to judge? She was literally wearing sweatpants from 4,000 years ago. She probably looked different to him too. 

Fang looked at the CPS representative who was completely unaware of the demon standing 3 feet away with an angrily crinkled nose. “How long do I have to pack?” 

“10 minutes,” the representative replied, before yawning and checking his MagiOrb. 

“Only 10!” Dipper shouted, knowing Fang was the only one who could hear him. “That’s so unfair! I thought these people were supposed to help you!” The angry snap to his voice made her shudder. 

Taking the bag, Fang looked back at the representative. “Can I be alone? Please?”

He shrugged, “I don’t care. I just have to be here to check your bag.” 

She marched towards the back of the house, bypassing Dipper. She stopped briefly at the door to her bedroom. She’d spent days trying not to think about what was behind that door, though it finally came to the point where she would have to reckon with it. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped inside. 

The room was almost as she left it. Her bed was still unmade and her MagiOrb was left lying on the ground, a thin crack running along its crystal exterior. But then there were the few things that didn’t belong. Yellow caution tape, numbered markers where “evidence” once was, half of a brown and withered pine tree circlet, and a big black stain of ash and blood in the carpet. Fang tried to swallow her discomfort, her throat dry with dread. 

“Well, that guy seems like a jerk,” Dipper commented. “But hey,” he nudged her with his elbow, phasing through her. He smiled a little, like he was telling a joke only she would understand. “You have me. Make me a deal and I’ll move anything you want back to the Shack. It would be our first deal.” 

He extended a hand, casual and inviting. A cold chill went up Fang’s spine as she looked away. 

“I’m fine,” she said. She stepped over the blood and ash stain and set the garbage bag down on the bed. 

The room felt like a constant reminder of the life she had left behind and destroyed. There were black and gray cords hung on the wall that symbolized her progression through the ranks of Exorcism, the ones that she would wear tied around her waist during special occasions like the celebration of the angel or to welcoming parties when a new baby was born. A dream catcher still hung on her wall, and a stack of rare printed books she was allowed to take from the library sat on her desk. 

Walking over to her closet, she grabbed a handful of shirts and leather jackets, and pulled them free, hangers and all. She stuffed them into the garbage bag, the black exterior protruding and swelling. Then moving over to her dresser, she pried one of the drawers free and proceeded to dump some of its contents into the bag without much thought. 

“Uhhh don’t you want to fold those? I’m pretty sure it helps save space,” Dipper remarked. She ignored this and continued to stuff clothes into the bag. “Or you know… don’t do that I guess?” 

Abandoning the dresser drawer on the bed, she brushed past Dipper, scooping up items from the floor into her arms: her MagiOrb charging port, a pair of black sneakers, and her messenger bag still containing school supplies (she had since been unenrolled from New Portland High school due to her “excessive trauma”). 

She dropped all of it on the bed, before turning around and noticing the thin slick frame of an item on the floor. She picked up the tennis racquet and held it gingerly between her fingers. She got it from a yard sale when she was 10, the owner likely realizing Fang did not have many toys or playthings, and telling her to take it and hit a ball against the back of her house. The rim was still faintly lined with anti-demon enchantments she had placed on it; which she then used to hit Dipper on the head several times. Everything in the room was a symbol of what had occurred within the past month from the leftover brown and brittle pine needles strewn on her desk to the black human shaped stain on the carpet.

“Fang,” he said, this time with a serious but sweet tone to his voice. “Are you okay?” 

“I just,” Fang said, struggling to find a sense of reason in the crashing waves of her mind. “I just want my clothes and then I want to leave.” 

She looked over at Dipper. Despite his dark and infinite eyes and wings like the flourish of a cape, he looked so unassuming. He blinked at her. “Are you sure everything is okay?” But it was hard to forget it sometimes. The thick curls of fire that would burn around his fingers or the angry twist to his voice when he screamed at her. 

Fang dropped on the bed, knowing she should be counting down the minutes in her head and continuing to stuff what little she had into the garbage bag. There was something stained against her gray blankets, somewhat pale and orangey in tone. It was scattered about the room, like it had been dropped along. And then it occurred to her that it was old, golden blood. 

Her thoughts wrapped around and tightened like a spool of thread. The air in her chest compressed and pulled on her ribs. 

Dipper peeled out of the metaphysical plane, like stepping through a heavy fog. “Fang? What’s wrong? Please talk to me. Let’s not shut each other out anymore.” The moment he stepped forward she winced, as if awaiting a violent reaction, and a whimper clawed itself from her throat. 

No. Why did she do that? That wasn’t what she wanted. Things were supposed to be fine now! She wanted to like Dipper, to not be afraid of him. Why didn’t she like him yet? They were supposed to have this incredible bond and, yet, she was still afraid of him. 

He followed her gaze to the thick black patch of ash on the floor. “Oh.” Cautiously, he backed away from her and pressed himself into the back of the room, sunlight from the window caught in his hair and reflecting in his eyes. “You’re still scared of me, huh?” It was just like their first few meetings; how he always kept his distance as if she were some fragile thing he was afraid to touch. It wasn’t supposed to be like that anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, a quiver to her words. “I didn’t mean it like that. I--” She needed to be honest with him instead of pushing him away. She rubbed at her eyes with the bottom of her t-shirt. “It’s just that I hate being here. I’m reminded of all these terrible things that have happened. And,” she tried to suck in a breath but failed. All she could hope for was that the CPS representative was too disinterested to care if she cried. “Things are supposed to be better now, right? We’re supposed to be cosmic other halves. Why isn’t everything better? Why am I afraid! This is so stupid.” 

Dipper thought about this for a moment. He stood with a little more resolve. “I’m afraid of you too.” 

“What?” 

“You tried to kill me like a week ago and that was terrifying. I haven’t been afraid… like that… in a really long time.” He sighed and slumped back against the wall, wings curling around his sides like a protective barrier. “I’m scared of what happens if you decide you don’t like me anymore. Maybe you’ll attempt to murder me again or I’ll do something bad to you. Except I don’t want to go through that again. And I look around your room and I realize all the terrible stuff I’ve done to you. Which I guess means I’m also scared of myself?” He scrunched up his nose with confusion in that way that made Fang laugh to herself. 

Fang dried her eyes again. “I’m a little scared of me too. Because I’m secretly glad you did all that terrible stuff; like with my parents and the Exorcists. They were bad people and I feel better knowing they will never, ever hurt me again. It all just spirals together; I’m so afraid of everything.” She felt her breath pick up again, aching and pulsing across her chest cavity. 

But then she looked up at Dipper, the steady constance of his presence. However she felt, he felt it too. Her breathing slowed. She beckoned for him to come to her side, patting the side of the bed. He did so, letting his arm rub against hers. Slowly she tilted her head against his shoulder. It was nice to be close. “We’re both still in some bad places, huh?” she whispered. 

He scoffed, “What? Pfft… I--” And then he stopped, eyes settling on her. His voice was eerily quiet. “Yeah. I think we are.” 

“We’ll take it one step at a time.” Sitting upright, Fang extended one hand to him with newfound confidence. “I’m ready to make a deal.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I am. I want you to move my things into the Shack.” 

“Fine. But in exchange, I get to decide what stays and what goes. No freaky Exorcist books, weaponized tennis racquets, or dream catchers. Oh and I want two bags of sour gummy koalas.” 

“Deal.” He wrapped his hand around hers; fingers curling at her knuckles. At first the fire that spurted forth made Fang flinch. It was the same blue that haunted her dreams, that turned her childhood bedroom into her nightmare. But now it was lukewarm, and like the glowing neon lights at the corner shop across from the high school. It spurted out as quickly as it arrived, yet they continued to hold onto each other. Fang pulled Dipper closer, tucking him into a hug. He wrapped his other arm around her and pressed his head into her shoulder. 

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” she asked. 

“Right,” he assured her. 

The door creaked and just as Fang looked over her shoulder, Dipper disappeared back into the Mindscape. The CPS representative gave a disinterested frown. “Time’s up. Let’s go.” 

Fang grabbed the garbage bag, pulling on the two tabs to close it. Dipper ushered her along with one hand, the faint white aura of immateriality surrounding him. “I’ll take care of the packing. I’ll see you and those gummy koalas at home.” 

She smiled. The CPS representative rolled his eyes. “Are you ready or not?”

Grabbing the bag, Fang hoisted it up into her arms, the swell of fabric and hangers pinching into her gut. She walked out of the room for the last time, grateful to close the door behind her. “Yeah, I’m ready to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Welcome to what will be a collection of one-shots about my babies and their new life! 
> 
> It felt important to start the fic with a sense of immediacy. Fang's life has changed drastically, and while it is for the better, she has to live with the repercussions. It also felt like the place to start to formally acknowledge how I write her and Dipper. They're undeniably in unhealthy places; Fang bringing over her anxiety from the first 2 fics as well as new trauma, and Dipper grappling with a depression built up over 5,000 years. Their relationship is a mutual one towards healing.


	2. The Room in the Attic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fang has some strange memories while moving into the Mystery Shack's attic

“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay here? It is your bedroom after all,” Fang asked, staring at the stack of plastic boxes stacked in the attic. The room smelled musty, like a museum or thrift shop. The house felt like a labyrinth of ever changing rooms and hallways. There was always some secret door, some room hidden just on the edge of her sight.

Dipper shrugged, dusting off his hands as he moved the last stack of old cardboard boxes filled with ancient gift shop merchandise out into the attic hallway. “I haven’t lived in the Shack in 4,867 years.” He paused. “Oh wow. I am old. Do I act that old?” 

Fang chuckled under her breath, and affectionately pushed his shoulder. “Definitely. You say things like ‘back in my day’ and complain about how the youth are too distracted by technology.” Turning around she opened up the next of the plastic bins. There were only a few, mostly filled with what remained of her clothes and bedding. Dipper had taken a few of her personal items, some band posters that she got second-hand at garage sales. 

Her things looked so out of place in the room, like she had stripped it bare of all meaning. Only a few things remained: a bed frame on the right side of the room, a side table beneath the triangle window of streaming sunlight, and a painting of a ship at sea. There was something about the room that made her feel translucent, like she was about to fade away. Something that itched around the base of her mind with a certain familiarity that she had never felt before. 

Dipper threw his arms in the air, continuing on his tirade. “Who needs virtual gaming! Handheld systems were fine! All of this flashy tech distracts from the joy of gameplay!” He paused, face a look of horror pressed comically into the bags under his eyes and gaping jaw. “Oh no… What am I becoming?” 

“You sound a little like Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said from standing on top of the bed, hanging up Fang’s band posters on the wall.

He turned sheet white. “I hoped this day would never come.” 

Fang snickered again and playfully pushed his shoulder. She liked being able to tease Dipper, and watch him get flustered while his wings fluttered behind his back. He’d always flush a cartoony shade of red when he felt embarrassed, something sweet and innocent glowing against the apples of his cheeks. 

He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the thought from his brain, brown curls tossing around. “But that’s not what we’re talking about right now. I want you to stay in the bedroom, it's okay.” 

It felt strange to be in the Shack, not only knowing how old it was, but knowing the things it had witnessed. She could tell by the way Dipper moved around the room, how he dragged his fingers against the bare wood walls and stared up wistfully at the ceiling that there was something sacred about this place. So when Dipper suggested that she move into the attic, she was surprised that he wanted her in there instead of Mabel. The Mystery Shack was a temple and Fang was afraid she might descrate it. 

“I mean,” Fang said with a shrug, “I’d understand if you wanted to move back into this room with Mabel. I know this is important to you; to be back home after so long.”

“What?” Mabel laughed, pressing the image buttons on Fang's holo posters, making the bands  _ Cross Metal _ and  _ 66 Torches _ light up against the grainy, old wood. Mabel jumped off the bed, enjoying the action just a bit too much. “Pfft. Nah. There’s no way I’m moving back in with this dorkus.” 

Dipper scrunched up his mouth and nose playfully. “I thought you liked being my roommate?”

“I did like sharing a room with you. It was fun!” she replied. “But I was a younger girl then. I’m a grown up mental recreation of Mabel. I’m more mature.” 

He snickered to himself, “More mature?” 

“Absolutely. I’d say after 200 years of impersonating adult Mabel, I think I’ve become more refined. I think we’re beyond the stages of splitting a bedroom down the middle. We’re not 12 anymore.” 

Even thousands of years later Fang could see the divide in the room. Faded sunspots from where a bed on the left side of the room used to be and little holes drilled into the walls so there were equal amounts of hooks for both sides. And now one half was filled with her things, a closet full of black clothing and posters for punk bands. It made the other half look empty. 

She squeezed her eyes shut. It was as if something were familiar. But how could it be? Why did the empty half of the room seem so desperate and wrong to her? Every word spoken felt painfully acute. She felt as if she were melted paper, all the ink coming off and her body turning to mush. Fang felt it in the front of her skull, pulling and twisting like taffy and then snapping back against her like the recoil of a rubber band. 

_ “That’s your side of the room and this is my side,” she says, trying to hang the bedsheet across the fishing line she taped to both ends of the room.  _

_ He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think this is necessary. We’ve shared a room our whole lives. Why do we suddenly need sides?”  _

_ She rolls her eyes. “We’re 15. I need a little privacy to…” she thinks about it. “I don’t know! Read teen magazines or leave bras out! And you need privacy to do demon stuff or whatever.” Tossing the bed sheet into the air, it flutters for a second before loosely draping across the finishing line. She reaches to adjust it, grabbing the corner and giving it a tug. The moment she does the fishing line prices free from the tape on the walls and falls to the floor. She sighs and drops down from her chair, glasses nearly sliding off her face. She pushes them back up. “I don’t know. Just teenager stuff, I guess.”  _

_ He looks down at the fishing line and then back at her, standing on her desk chair. “Oh,” he says with an understanding. Then he sits on the edge of his own bed. “You know, you can tell me when you need time alone. My feelings won’t be hurt. I understand it’s important to be by yourself sometimes. And it’s easier than trying to put a curtain in our room.”  _

_ She smiles, “Thanks.”  _

_ “No problem, Belle.” _

Fang pressed her feet down into the floor, suddenly unsteady. Putting two hands up to her temples, she tried to feel for her glasses. They weren’t there. She didn’t wear glasses. And there was only one bed in the room instead of two and no sheet on the floor. 

Looking over her shoulder, Dipper and Mabel were still in full sibling-bickering mode; Dipper having stuck a forked tongue out at Mabel. Dipper and Mabel spent a lot of time talking about the past, events that her soul had witnessed but Fang couldn’t remember. It made the inside of her skull itch and something at the back of her neck tighten. 

_ Remember. _

No. Remembering was impossible. 

Fang was just a translation of the other Mizars. She wasn’t like them. She couldn’t be that sister, best friend, or ally Dipper needed. All she wanted was to get closer to him, to make up for all the terrible things she had said and done. 

Looking over her shoulder with a devilish grin, Mabel continued as if nothing had happened. “But also ever since the demon thing happened, you snore  _ so loud. _ ” 

He turned red again, the deep shade that Fang thought was funny. But rather than laugh she felt something pull through her body. When she looked down her hands were shaking. 

“I do  _ not  _ snore!” Dipper continued. “I’m a dream demon, I think I can control my own sleeping habits.” 

“You absolutely do! It’s like a runaway train during a thunderstorm being operated by thousands of purring kittens. Not to mention, you drool. You leave these little pools of spit on the pillow.” Mabel said with a sneaky grin. 

The angry flutter of his wings sent a small puff of air through the room. “I don’t drool!” 

It hit her body again with a full pang, making her lose sensation in her fingertips and up her arms. 

_ It’s the middle of the night. He wakes up to feel a lump in the bed. It doesn't exactly have weight but he can feel it sinking down into the mattress and curling into the blankets. It’s pressed into his side, warm and comforting. The lump moves an inch. There’s a little trail of drool hanging from the lump’s bottom lip and onto the mattress.  _

_ He thinks for a moment to address the lump and the wet drool puddle on the bed, but it’s sleeping so peacefully. Like a child Dipper has his fingers curled in his soft brown hair. Bentley rolls onto his side and goes back to sleep.  _

“Fang?” Warm fingers wrap around her shoulder, pressing gently into the soft flesh between her shoulder blade and arm socket. “Fang? Are you okay?” 

That’s not her name. Or at least, she wasn’t sure. 

She felt him grip a little harder to her shoulders, the base of his claws barely scratching her skin. His voice dripped with concern. “Your mindscape is like that noise when you change between radio stations and all you hear are random words.” 

Fang blinked her eyes open. It was day time, though she could have sworn it was night. Dipper leaned close into her, his dark eyes consuming most of her vision. Why was he awake? She could have sworn he was just asleep next to her. But now she was standing upright in an attic.

The light was very bright and her head was spinning. She tried to say something, but her words were foggy and her lips refused to move. 

“What?” he asked. Dipper placed the back of his fingers to her forehead and held them steady, as if to check if she had a fever. 

“You drool in your sleep,” she said, this time more clearly. 

Dipper contorted his face, “I do not!” When he shouted, Fang could see the tiny points of his teeth. 

Bent over with laughter, Mabel clutched at her gut, fingers dug deep into her vibrant pink sweater. “See! Fang agrees! You can’t deny us!” 

“Cut it out!” he snapped, a sharp hiss to his voice.

Mabel snickered, “You need to loosen up and have a little fun. I’m just teasing. Sharing a bedroom with you was awesome.” Her rosy cheeks curled with her smile, and the sunlight from the window made her dark eyes glisten. “I loved playing attic-stuff mini golf and telling ghost stories and having random dance parties for no reason.” 

The room seemed to hum. Fang blinked. 

_ She leans over on the top bunk. The blood rushes to her head and her hair falls forward. The air in the room is hot and dry despite the air conditioner’s best efforts. “I’m bored,” she complains.  _

_ “Mhm.” He doesn’t look up. He turns the page of a mystery novel, the paper scratching along the base of his finger. The way he reads is strange, with a disinterest as if he already knows what’s going to happen.  _

_ She rolls her eyes and flips her head upwards. Placing herself at the edge of the top bunk she slides herself down, feet planting on the floor. “I think we could use some music.” He makes no note of this. She marches over to her desk, plugging in her phone and scrolling through the list. She selects a feel-good, sugar sweet top 10 hit of the summer. Now she is bouncing on her toes, waving her arms through the air with the music. “Come on, dance party.”  _

_ Finally, he looks up from the book. He’s pretending to be displeased, but his foot is tapping along with the rhythm. “Noie.” He rolls his brown eyes.  _

_ “Come on! I know it’s your favorite! Don’t be such a dweeb.” She grabs Dipper by the arm, forcing him to abandon the book on his bed, and join her on the impromptu dance floor, the walls vibrating with sound and the reverb of their dancing.  _

The room was unnervingly still and quiet, devoid of the pop music playing and the thump of footsteps. 

“Are you sure you’re okay,” he said. The whites of his eyes were pitch black with shimmering gold irises. But they were just brown a moment ago. A nervous pit formed in her stomach. 

“Fang?” he asked again. 

That’s not her name. But it is. 

She nodded and swallowed, mouth bitter and dry with the musty taste of the house. “I’m okay. It’s just,” she paused, the echo of their dance still in her bones. “I think it’s hitting me that I live here now.” Gripping her fingers into her elbows, “And I’m starting to think I shouldn’t be here.”

“Is this about the bedroom?” Dipper asked. “Because it’s okay if you’d rather move downstairs. I get that this is weird and all. Moving into my room and stuff.” 

She shook her head, the fringe of her bangs rubbing against her eyebrows. Her chest hurt from beneath her ribs. “I don’t belong in the Shack with you. You’re much happier here with Mabel. I’m not like the other Mizars, I’ve been so terrible with you and we don’t have that kind of relationship. This was so stupid, I wanted to get to know you but…” 

“What! No way!” Dipper said, cutting her off. “This wasn’t stupid. I’m really happy that you want to live here!” 

“You are?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Fang looked over at him, the way he fidgeted with his clawed fingers and tried to rub nervously at the space between his shoulder blades. He looked up at Mabel, the edges of her mouth turned down with empathy. Her fingers played at the edge of her sweater, pills of pink fabric stuck under her nails. “But I understand how you feel. When Mabel and I first spent the summer in Gravity Falls, I felt like a stranger. I was in a weird house with my weird great uncle. The only familiar thing was Mabel. And while she was my sister, we weren’t very close yet.” A sigh escaped from him, and though no air escaped his lips Fang could feel it brush past her face. 

_ She’s counting the moldy spots on the ceiling. 5 so far, green and fuzzy like moss. She misses the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling back home and the bed underneath her is hard and squeaky. She heard him rustling in the next bed over, kicking at the sheets as they twist around his feet and legs. He mumbles a little, under his breath, before flopping down on his pillow. She’s not used to him being next to her at night, and the sound of his rustling is strange and distracting.  _

_ She rolls onto her side. “Dipper, go to sleep. You’re keeping me up.”  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he replies, exasperated. “I hate falling asleep in new places. Also do you think these mattresses have bed bugs? I feel itchy.”  _

_ She yawns and rolls over onto her stomach with her face pressed in the musty pillow. “Uhg! Can you please be paranoid in the morning?”  _

_ “You’re right. I’ll keep it down.” He pauses, “I’m sorry you’re stuck sharing a room with me all summer.”  _

_ She frowns and turns her head towards him. “Awww, Dipper. I didn’t mean it like that. It will be fun, like a long sleepover.”  _

_ “You think so?” She can’t see his face in the darkness. But it sounds like he’s smiling.  _

_ “Of course I do, bro-bro. Now please, go to sleep.” _

_ He laughs. “Goodnight, Mabel.”  _

_ “Goodnight, Dip.” _

Dipper continued speaking, even though he had just told her goodnight. “But we got closer over the summer. And well… you know everything after that.” 

She did. And she knew about a few more things like how he drooled in his sleep and was a terrible dancer. And she knew how empty the other half of the room was without a complimentary bed. 

“Maybe we should share the room,” Fang whispered with voices that weren’t her own. “I mean, you’re back home. Maybe the same thing that worked for you and Mabel will work for us? It would be like one long sleepover.” 

Mabel jumped up and down, probably celebrating too much. “Oh yes! You definitely should! You guys can play attic stuff mini golf and do all the other fun things we used to!” 

“Oh uhhhh. I don’t really need a bedroom.” Dipper rubbed nervously at the space between his shoulder blade and neck, cheeks flushing red. “I have my own space in the Mindscape if I want to be alone. I mean, I  _ do  _ think it would be fun. To share a bedroom again and hang out all the time. But we should only do this if you really want to.” 

Reaching out, Fang pushed back his shoulder. It was funny when he turned red and rambled on about things. “You’re being a dork about it. Just say you’ll share the room.” 

He gave her that sweet and dopey smile. “Okay.” 


	3. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper attempts to plan the best getting-to-know-you day ever, but there's an unforeseen flaw in his plan.

Dipper pointed at the piece of paper with a clawed finger, the edge of his list slipping comedically off the end of the table and onto the floor. “As you can see, I’ve planned the best getting-to-know-you-fun day ever to be recorded in history. First, I have plans to go to breakfast at the best restaurant in the world. I have the next few hours scheduled for playing MonsterMon and then we can go to this reenactment of the early 2000s.” The floors creaked with the soft rock of every step that the Mystery Shack took through the Oregon forests.  
He had spent hours on that list. He never spent longer than 15 minutes on anything, but figuring out how to bond with Fang was harder than he expected it to be (even with the ability to magically know almost anything). It wasn’t that he and Fang weren’t getting along; things were going great between them. But it was a slow process. 

At first, Dipper assumed Fang was just tired. Since they met, her life had been in a constant state of change. From learning she was Mizar, to fighting the Exorcists, to moving into a strange house with a demon and a memory she barely knew. While Fang seemed to loosen some; smiling more, laughing more, and teasing him consistently, she still carried a heavy aura around her. He could feel it, like static against the back of her mind.  
Dipper snapped his fingers another sheet of paper appearing in his hands, “I even have a plan to ensure that I do not make Fang even the slightest bit uncomfortable.” He held it up, and the list slowly unfolded itself until it comically hit the ground. “1.) Don’t talk about the Exorcists 2.) Don’t talk about her traumatic childhood 3.) Don’t talk about how the Exorcists and her parents are dead 4.) Don’t--” 

Mabel scrunched up her nose as she read through the list. “Uh-huh.” She took a suspicious sip of her hot chocolate. “I’m gonna give you 3 tries to understand what’s wrong with your plan.” 

Dipper curled a finger to his lips and thought for a moment. “Aha!” He snapped his fingers, suddenly bearing a human disguise: featuring a blue hoodie, old pine tree hat, as well as departing from his traditional look of large wings and eyes like the dark and endless nothing of space. “Now we can be seen in public together.” 

Mabel shook her head. “Strike one.” 

Dipper furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his plan. “You’re right. I forgot to include ‘playing old video games’ on my list.” 

“Strike two.” Hesitantly Dipper grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie and smelled it, raising a questioning eyebrow to Mabel. “Strike three.” He frowned. “Though you get points for recognizing you haven’t washed your clothes in 200 years.” 

“It’s a waste of time!” He countered. 

Mabel sighed, “Look, I’m gonna level with you, bro-bro. It’s nice that you’ve done all this, but you’re being a little obsessive and paranoid again. You’re overplanning everything. I’m worried you might get tunnel vision and not pay any real attention to Fang.” 

He groaned and tucked his head into his arms. “I know. I’m just nervous. If I screw this up, Fang could be upset with me, and if she’s upset she might run away and get hurt and then it would all be my fault. I can’t afford to let one single detail in my plan go wrong.” 

“Awww,” Mabel said, patting him gently on the head. He looked up at her and faintly smiled. “You’re such a dorkus.”

A moment later, Fang walked into the kitchen, wearing a black metal band t-shirt with the name screened illegibly across the front, and her messenger bag slung over her shoulder. She stood there quietly for a few seconds, aware of all the attention that was suddenly placed on her. “Good morning,” her voice sounded uncharacteristically low and strained. A bright pink flush arched across her cheeks. 

“Hi,” Dipper replied, taking cautious note of the glassy gaze to Fang’s eyes. 

She blinked as if confused, “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting the human look so early in the morning. It’s kinda weird.” 

“I can change back if you want.” 

“No. It’s a nice kind of weird.” She rubbed at the back of her arms, skin blossoming with goosebumps. 

And then he paused, suddenly unsure. “I uhm,” he grabbed the itinerary of the table and handed it to her. “I thought of some stuff we could do today. If you want to pick something off the list.” 

Fang glanced down at it, “This says ‘itinerary’.” 

“I may have gone a little overboard.” 

Mabel scoffed, “A little?” She leaned back in her chair, and placed a hand in front of her mouth as if to mimic whispering. “Go easy on him. He’s really trying.” 

Fang snickered, “I promise.” She looked back down at the list and rocked back on her heels, a slight tremble rattling at her legs. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Dipper’s gaze shifted between Fang and the list. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good?” He asked, giving Fang a suspicious eyebrow-raise. She looked unwell, the parts of her face that weren’t glowing red were palid and an air of partial-disconnect surrounding her. Fang was usually so sharp, hyper aware of everything and moving with a keen articulation. Today she just looked...well… she looked tired.  
Mabel nodded, “You do look… not right.”

Fang shook her head, bracing both her hands against the back of an empty chair. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I uhhh… I didn’t sleep well. I was excited.” 

“Really?” he asked. She did lie awake most of the night. He tried not to hover around their bedroom at night when she was sleeping, but he could tell that she was alert and conscious throughout most of the night. He would never know for sure, as long as she wore the God’s eye— her mind was unreadable. So he would have to take her word for it. He grinned, “Then let’s have some breakfast. I know that a place that serves the best pancakes in the world. I’m serious. The _best_.” 

She gave a meek shrug, “Pancakes sound nice.” 

He stood up, and wrapped one arm around Fang’s waist. “Great! I’ll teleport us there!” 

“Wait! I--” Fang didn’t get to finish her sentence when the two disappeared from the kitchen. 

Mabel sighed and shook her head, still seated at the table. “He’s trying so hard.” She nonchalantly took another sip of her hot chocolate. “Let’s see how long it takes him to pay attention.” 

\------  
They landed on the sidewalk. Fang gripped to Dipper for balance, fingers digging into his arm. She was bent over, pressed up against him and breathing heavy. Her breath rolled and gasped it way out of her lungs, crawling and wheezing with a shaky violence. A pale shimmer of sweat glistened against her forehead. 

“Uhhh Fang?” he said, as she draped herself over his arm. It wasn’t like Fang to react so poorly to teleportation. Usually she held strong. But today she was struck with a peculiar bout of motion sickness. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

She nodded, bangs sticking to her forehead. “Yeah,” her voice was strained and wispy. “A little dizzy.” He helped Fang stand upright, watching her dark eyes blink and shine in the bright sun. She looked upwards at the building and squinted, before laying against his arm for support. “Where are we?” 

“Greasy’s Diner in Gravity Falls.” 

“Wait. Gravity Falls? Like _your_ Gravity Falls.” 

“Is there another one I should know about?” he laughed. “Come on, it’s great!” Grabbing Fang by the wrist he dragged her into the old diner. 

Greasy’s was different in many ways. The trailer had been refurbished several times to keep the seating and tables updated, changing to a sleek and sturdy plastic. Waitstaff droids hummed their way along the ground, supporting trays of pancakes while a Manotaur cooked from the back room. But it still remained mostly the same, the smell of salty bacon over the griddle and the clatter of the local gnome society trying to all fit in one booth. If he closed his eyes he could still hear Mabel’s laugh and Grunkle Stan trying to con his way into a free breakfast. 

The sadness settled into his stomach. He felt hollow, like a peach that had its pit scooped out, leaving soft torn flesh. 

He glanced at Fang, the bright lights making her black hair shine and the red flush in her face. And he felt a little better. He tugged her over to the second to last booth in the row, right under the sunlit window. “Welcome to my fourth favorite place in the world.” 

“Only your fourth?” she responded. “What’s first through third?” 

He counted on his fingers, starting with his thumb. “The Mystery Shack, and I guess the Library is second-- even though they are sort of the same thing. Third is the Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons Museum in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.” 

Fang smiled, but was visibly shivering. “That’s pretty dorky of you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her sweater from Mabel, using it to cover up the bright red god’s eye around her neck. She clutched to her arms and continued to shiver. 

“Are you cold?” 

She nodded. “Freezing.” 

That didn’t make much sense. It was 72 degrees in the diner, and Fang was seated in the sunny part of the booth by the window. But what did he know? He couldn’t feel the temperature for himself. “Here,” he stood up and shrugged off his human-disguise-hoodie, revealing a muted orange shirt underneath and tossed it to her. 

“Thanks,” she replied, also slipping the hoodie on. 

A waitstaff droid pulled up to their table. It was rounded and the top with a pink cylinder body and a holographic face composed of 2 cartoony eyes and a mouth. It even wore a little white apron, just like Lazy Susan had. “Welcome organic lifeform to Greasy’s Diner. Place nutrients order now,” it chirped. 

Dipper slammed his hands into the table, admittedly a little too excited. “Two orders of pancakes with extra syrup on the side.” 

The droid’s face flashed as it processed the order. “Accepted.” It’s treaded wheels buzzed across the floor as it left. 

Fang was curled up on her side of the booth with both hoodies on and one of her legs tucked underneath her. She leaned with her head against the window, a grimace on her face. Dipper sighed and started to chew on the prongs of his fork. Was she not having a good time? Why wasn’t she saying anything? Maybe she was still too scared of him.

“Do you not want pancakes?” he asked. “We can go somewhere else. Really.” 

At first she didn’t register what he had said. She looked over and blinked in surprise. “Oh uh. No. Everything is fine. I’m just thinking.” 

“About?”

There was something off about her always sly grin. “How are you planning to pay for this?” 

“It’s funny that you assume I’m going to pay for it. I’m a demon, we cheat and lie and don’t pay for our breakfasts. You’re an Exorcist, you should always be assuming the worst from me.” Fang laughed, continuing to hug herself at the elbows. She still looked cold. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I am perfect. Please, stop asking.” 

At that moment the waitstaff droin came by and slid two plates of pancakes onto the table. “Food!” it exclaimed before buzzing away. 

As Fang grabbed her fork and poked cautiously at the fluffy mound of golden pancakes, he pushed his full plate toward her. “Could you sort of… offer that to me?” he muttered. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” 

“Oh uhhh, well I can’t eat anything unless it’s given to me in an offering or sold in a deal. All you have to do is push the plate over and say you’re offering it to me. Demon stuff.” It was always embarrassing to have to ask. An all powerful demon couldn’t eat without permission. Sometimes the offering was implied but a waitstaff droid wasn’t capable of that. 

“Oh sure.” Fang pushed the plate across the table with a shallow metallic scratch. “I offer you this plate of pancakes?” She paused, “Was that good?” 

He already had a mouthful of pancakes, slick with butter and rich syrup. “Awesome.” Fang snickered as he swallowed the mouthful and dug into the next one. “This diner has been around for well over 5,000 years. My family used to hang around here all the time. Not to brag, but I’m the only reason the place is still open. I’ve worked a little magic to make sure it never closes. I’d probably die without these pancakes.” 

“Okay, I’ll write that down on your list of weaknesses. True name and loss of diner pancakes.” 

“Haha,” he said sarcastically, letting a peak of his forked tongue stick out at her. 

She pushed her pancake around with her fork, digging the prongs into the soft buttery outside and tearing a section away. “It’s kind of hard to comprehend that you’ve been hanging around here for so long. Like you came here as a human.”

“Yeah, it’s hard for me to believe too. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like the same place. It’s weird to think that 5,000 years ago I was having a syrup race with my sister in this exact spot.” 

“So why keep it open? You know everything. Just take the pancake recipe?” 

“Emotional attachment, I guess.” He looked down into his already empty plate of pancakes. He felt something press into his shin. Realizing it was the tip of Fang’s boot, he looked up. She gave him a faint, pink cheeked and hazy smile. He looked at her mostly full plate of pancakes, a divet barely made in the side.“You haven’t eaten anything. Are you okay? Do you not like them?” 

“No! I do! They’re really good. I just,” she paused and continued to poke at the pancakes with her fork. “I think I’m a little bit nauseous from teleporting here.” She shrugged, “Also I’m not a demon who can practically inhale my food.” 

“Hey, you’d inhale your food too if you had to wait however many hundred years for someone to finally offer up whatever you were craving.” 

She lowered her fork. Maybe it was the lighting in the building or her yellowing aura, but she looked a little green. “Had it really been that long? Since you had someone to talk to or get you pancakes?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugged, trying to pass it off as something normal. “Usually there are a few other incarnations I can hang out with. Or sometimes I meet a really nice summoner and we become friends. But that hasn’t happened for awhile.” Then he grinned at Fang, “So hanging out with you is even more special.” 

At first, she had nothing to say. She only placed the pads of her fingers to her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. When he did finally speak, her voice was low and strained. “I’m sorry,” Fang replied. Then she abruptly stood up and ran off into a corner of the diner where the bathrooms were. As she ran she bumped into the waitstaff droid, knocking it over onto the ground with a metallic thunk. 

“I have fallen and I cannot get up,” chirped the droid. 

Dipper rose up from his side of the booth. “Fang!” he called, chasing after her. He pushed through the door of the all-gender bathroom to find her leaning over the sink. The sink was running, the gush of water like a static hum. Her face was a deep pink and dripping with water. The base of her arms and wrists shook as her gripped to the edge of the counter. “Fang?” Dipper asked again. “Are you okay?” 

Fang sucked in a deep and rattled breath, “I’m fine. I’ll be back in a minute. I don’t want to ruin your fun.” Bending forward, she spit into the sink. 

Marching over to her side, Dipper placed both hands at her shoulders. He spun Fang around to face him and then traced his fingers along her neck and pulled the god’s eye free. Everytime Fang removed it, he’d be hit with a wave of information he had missed out on. Every bit of data from her thoughts and feelings down to how many centimeters long her hair was. Usually he tried to ignore it, but this time he braced himself for the onslaught. (High fever, nausea, chills, aches: diagnosis obvious. Fang has the stomach flu.) 

Dipper raised an eyebrow to her, “Why are you lying to me about being sick?” 

Reaching over, Fang turned off the freshwater tap over the sink. “I’m sorry.” She said again.

“Come on, we’re going home,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“No. I’ll be okay! Really!” she urged. But that didn’t stop him. 

They blipped back into the attic of the Shack, now decorated with Fang’s posters and a pile of her all black clothing on the floor while Dipper’s side of the room was starkly undecorated except for an old painting of a ship at sea. It was still raining in New Portland. The rain like sheets against the glass windows and that strange humid cling to the air. 

Fang pressed her forehead into his shoulder. He could literally hear her stomach churning. “You could have blipped the Shack to us,” she choked. Each of her breaths swelled against his side. Scooping her up, Dipper forced Fang into bed, at the expense of her trying to elbow and knee him “No. I’m okay,” she complained, limpy trying to kick her way free. It was a little unusual to see Fang that way. Usually she could break free of his grip without really trying, but now she was weak and uncoordinated. 

“You have the stomach flu,” he countered, tucking her under the covers of her thick gray blankets, shoes and all. Somewhere along the way he had ditched the human disguise, fingers now clawed and sharp. “That’s not fine. You should have told me instead of lying.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” she moaned. “Can’t you magic me better? Make your demon-stuff useful.” 

“That depends. The flu evolved to be magic resistant, so it would take a lot of work. How much blood are you willing to give me?” 

“Nevermind.” She groaned and rolled into her pillows, as if to hide her face from him. “Just leave me.”

“Come on, it will be like staying home sick from school,” he urged, trying to get Fang to peek her dark brown eyes out from under the covers. Dipper crouched down by her bedside, combing the tips of his claws through her bangs and the part of her hair. “You watch TV, take lots of naps, someone takes care of you.” Fang was unnervingly quiet. Hesitation and confusion churned around her aura in electric green waves. Dipper then realized she didn’t know what he was talking about. “Didn’t you ever stay home sick? A cold? The flu? Demon pox?” Fang shook her head. He paused, “Oh.” He continued to occupy himself by adjusting her covers in order to distract from the distinct awkwardness of the conversation. “I’m guessing you had no one to take care of you, huh?” 

“Exorcists don’t allow for weakness,” she said, still curling away from him and into her pillow. “And that included getting sick. My parents never cared if I was sick. I was supposed to walk it off and pretend like everything was fine. We didn’t keep medicine in my house. So the only way I could get it was if I--”

“--if you went to school anyway,” he spoke aloud as he realized, accidentally cutting her off. 

“I’d go to the nurse,” Fang continued, slowly emerging from her ball of blankets and pillows. “I remember lying on a cot with the stomach flu while she tried to call my parents to come pick me up. They never answered. So she’d let me lay there all day and give me some pills to take home and then I would go to training.” 

He couldn’t hide his shock. “You still went to training?” 

“It was better than getting in trouble. One time I asked to sit out of physical training because I felt sick. And our teacher, Exorcist Mace, decided to punish me by making me fight him in hand-to-hand combat. He beat me until I threw up and fell unconscious. And when I came to, I had to do it again and again.” She pulled one arm out from underneath her blankets, and tapped a finger below her left eyebrow, right where the bone concaved into her eye. Fang’s voice drifted, not just weak but sad. “I still have a scar here, from where the skin split open. I really thought I was going to die that day.” 

It was quiet while he processed it. What was he supposed to say to something like that? He knew Fang didn’t grow up in a loving environment, but it hadn’t occurred to him how deeply the Exorcists abused her. She was still suffering the consequences of her upbringing. 

He didn’t know how to feel. Angry maybe? Angry at the Exorcists for hurting her, for hurting others. Angry at himself; thinking that maybe if he had paid more attention, he could have found Fang sooner and rescued her. Every aspect of her life was riddled with suffering and isolation. But mostly, he didn’t feel angry on her behalf. He pitied her. 

“Is that why you didn’t want to tell me you were sick? You thought I would be angry with you?” 

“Yes,” she muttered, soft creak in her voice. “You were so excited and you were really trying. I was afraid to ruin it. You said all that stuff about being alone for hundreds of years. I didn’t want to take anything away from you. I guess I’m just used to people being angry, I didn’t know how you would react. And I was excited too. I wanted to know you better.”

He sighed, leaning against the edge of her bed frame. At first he wanted to tell her that wasn’t true. Sure, he had a track record for violence, but he’d never yell at her for being sick.

But when he opened his mouth to speak, he changed his mind. “When I was 10 I went to school with the stomach flu, because we were going on a field trip to a museum and I was so excited. I didn’t want to miss out on it, no matter how sick I felt. But when I got off the bus I threw up on my teacher, and ended up missing out anyway. Mabel called me ‘barf boy’ for a year. I erased that memory from the fake Mabel I made, because I was really embarrassed. So don’t tell her.” 

Finally, Fang flopped around in bed so that she could look at him. The blankets twisted around her legs and torso. “If you’re so embarrassed why are you telling me?” 

He shrugged. “Because I think we’re alike; kinda stubborn, we don’t like to show weakness, and we push ourselves to our limits. I should have been a little bit more concerned too. I knew something was wrong and I ignored it because I was so worried about making sure I planned the perfect day. I just wanted to get to know you better too.” 

“It was nice,” she assured. “But I guess we’ll have to try again later.” 

“You know,” he said, gently tapping her shoulder with the back of his knuckles. She turned to look at him, causing her pale and warm cheek to brush against his fingers. “Being sick doesn’t mean we can’t hang out together. It’s been well over 5,000 years since I’ve had the stomach flu, but I still remember everything that made me feel better. I’ll get you some soup and we’ll hang out in bed all day watching really bad horror movies. The worst one ever was called _Ghost Turtle_ from the 1970s. It used to play on Gravity Falls public television. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

Fang smiled, bracing herself up against her pillows. “Thanks, barf boy.” 

Normally, the name would have made him turn cherry red with anger. But instead he grinned with a mouth full of shark teeth. “You don’t have to pretend like everything is okay anymore,” he pressed his forehead up to hers, feeling the heat of her feverish skin and how her bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her aura turned a milky, affectionate pink. “I’m always going to take good care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think that after teaching a writing course for 3 weeks I'd write something better than this. But instead, I'm just tired. 
> 
> Anyway I’m going to beg for comments because this fic does not have any. And as someone who studies and teaches fandom professionally I can tell you that this ain’t cool and that there is nothing shameful or entitled in asking


	4. One Small Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fang remembers someone 
> 
> prompt suggested by Mod S like a billion years ago and I held on to it, just in case I didn't have anything for tauathon  
> Thanks Mod S <3

The sun was warm against the bare parts of her skin. She lingered at the base of the porch for a moment, thankful for the simple sounds of wind and birds repeating their monotonous chirps. The Mystery Shack swayed beneath her feet with each of its steps, the clawed feet of its chicken legs protruding forward. Kneeling down, she looped the metal clamps of the grappling hook around one of the posts of the porch. Her boots squeaked, the plastic underside starting to crack and wear thin from time. She gave the grappling hook a tug and then braced herself to jump. 

The Shack creaked and moaned, realizing that she was trying to leave. It opened the front door and swayed roughly in an attempt to knock her back inside. 

Fang laughed, holding herself steady. “Relax. I’m not running away this time.” Standing upright, she gave the Shack an affectionate pat on the exterior. “I’m just jogging. I’m used to Exorcist training every single day. I need to stay active.” 

Looking up, she could see the lights in the attic flicker on and off through the triangular window. Fang did not speak magic house, but through the world’s most unique game of charades, she could usually figure out what it was trying to tell her. 

The attic. Something about the attic. Her and Dipper’s bedroom was in the attic. Dipper. What about Dipper? 

“Where’s Dipper?” she asked. 

The Shack flicked on the lights once for yes. 

“Dipper left to answer some summons this morning, very loudly too, at like 3 am. He should really save all the fire and grandiose for when he arrives, not when he leaves,” she explained with a somewhat tired groan. “He probably won’t be back for a few hours.” 

The lights flickered again. Fang pursed her lips together. “No. He doesn’t know I’m leaving. And Mabel doesn’t either. But I’ll be back soon. I’m just going for a run. I promise. Besides,” Walking back over to the edge of the porch, Fang gripped to the handle of the grappling hook, “I packed a knife.” And then jumped down. The wire unraveled itself, coming to a stop five feet from the ground. She gave the hook another tug, prying it free and allowing herself to land against the soft dirt and crunching leaves. Then she took off, trying to free herself from the looming shadow of the overprotective Mystery Shack. 

Fang didn’t spend much time in nature growing up, sans for the pine trees in her neighbor’s yard. Her world had always been made of concrete and sharp metal. And now, the first time, she was free. She loved how the forest preserve that the Shack wandered through was clear of smog and the bumbling, rattling sounds of New Portland. The air here felt different on her skin.

She didn’t know exactly which way she was going, but she followed the narrow and worn path of travelers past. The wind wandered past her ears as she ran and the scar where the long-gone stitches in her side ached with each tug of her skin and muscles. The holster where she kept a discrete blade rubbed against her hip. It felt good to be simultaneously somewhere and nowhere, lost in an endless sea of ripe smelling pine. Running was the only thing that made her feel unstuck. It was familiar and it pushed away the spiral of her thoughts. She just wanted to run until she was tired. 

Sometimes she would reach up, letting the sharp prick of pine needs dig into the beds of her fingers. She’d try to yank some of them free and tuck them into her pocket to bring home with her. She’d started keeping a jar full of pine needles and would pull some out to burn just because she knew Dipper liked it. And when the smoke rose up in small white billows he’d look at her with that faint, goofy smile. 

Reaching up, Fang let her fingers graze the branches of the nearby tree. Then she skidded to a sudden halt, the backs of her training boots skidding into the soft dirt. She felt as if the forest were about to consume her. Like it had eyes. Like it was watching. 

Fang held her breath, the hot hair turning cold in her lungs. A twig snapped behind her. She looked over her shoulder, eyes steadily trained on the path ahead. The shadows of the trees twitched and the birds continued to sing. Finally, she let her breath go. But something still felt wrong. Like a buzzing in the back of her skull. Fang turned back around. 

A hollow face stared at her, skin shriveled like bark on a blighted tree. The creature wasn’t breathing, but Fang could feel it gasping. It’s dark eyes swallowed her, like pits eaten away by termites or drilled in by woodpeckers. A crown of fire curled around the base of its skull where two antlers extended outward. It leaned forward, allowing the several severed and decaying hands hanging from its antlers like ripe fruit to curl into Fang’s face. One of the hands oozed fresh blood from its stiff fingers and dripped onto her cheek dollop by dollop.

Her fingers fumbled for the knife at her hip, not that something so small would do her any good. Taking note of this, the creature raised one twigged and boney hand, an axe still fresh with blood rose up towards her face. Fang drew her hand away, backing up into the trunk of a tree. The axe swung, lodging itself deep into the tree trunk, inches away from her head. Fang whimpered and looked away. Too afraid to move, too afraid to try to pry the god’s eye from around her neck and scream for Dipper. 

With its one spindly hand, the creature reached up, the edges of its rough and worn fingers grazing against her face. A moan escaped from it. _‘Myyyyyy’_ Up close she could smell the moss and dirt and rotting flesh. 

Fang sunk down, her bare arms scratching against the bark and twigs of the tree. The creature came in closer and she paused. Something squeezed around the base of her mind until the world felt like a blur. The creature caressed her again, the bloodied hand still dripping against her cheek. It moaned again, _‘Myyyyyzzz’._

“Do we know each other?” Fang asked. Her voice felt unfamiliar. “Henry?” the word caught in her throat. “No, you’re not him.” The bubble of memory burst before Fang could find anything tangible about it. 

The scratches running up Fang’s arms stung. “Look,” she continued. “Whoever I once was to you I’m not that person anymore.” The tree-like figure leaned in closer, until their cheeks were pressed together. “I can call for Alcor. He can help with whatever you want.” 

_‘Noooo.’_ Wheezed the creature, its hand now inching around Fang’s neck and chin so that she was forced to look directly at it. _‘Myyyyyyzzzzaaarrrr. Remembeeeeerrr.’_

Fang swallowed. “I don’t remember.” She was lying. She didn’t want to remember. 

The creature reached out and tapped its twiggy fingers against her forehead and cheek.  
It felt like her head was forced underwater and her breath became lodged in the back of her throat. It was rough and chopped, like flickers of light when driving under a tunnel on the subway. The curve of a gentle hand across her shoulder. Coming home and flopping down, side by side, on the bed. Antlers amid a soft tuft of bright red hair. 

The hollowed face of the antlered figure before her was familiar and it tugged at the strings of her mind. For a moment, Fang felt very far away, as if disconnected from herself. But still somehow in control of herself, he reached up at the figure. “I remember.” 

Something shook the ground, causing Fang to blink herself out of the onslaught of memories. It stomped again and again in repetition. Fang looked up towards the sky as the cool dark shadow lay itself over the ground. The Mystery Shack came to a halt, a dark haired figure holding to one of the support beams on the porch for stability. The Shack dropped itself to the ground, allowing Mabel to skitter off the side. “Woodsman!” she screamed rushing towards the two of them. 

The creature, or The Woodsman, stood upright, observing Mabel with a curiosity. It pried the axe from the tree trunk and held it out towards Mabel’s throat. And while she stopped, centimeters from the edge of the blade, she seemed passively unconcerned about it. Her hair was half brushed, some of it piled into a matted mess of dark brown curls on the side of her head. Mabel sucked in a deep breath. “Stop it,” she instructed with a calm finesse. “You’re scaring her.” 

The Woodsman slowly drew the axe back, his thin twig-like arm creaking at the motion. _‘_ _‘Maaaaaable,’_ he creaked. He placed his spare hand at the base of Mabel’s cheek and drew fascinated fingers through her hair. _‘Youuung. Aaaliiive.’_

She shook her head. “I’m not really Mabel. And neither is Fang. I’m so sorry. I know you must… it must feel strange that everyone is gone.” 

_‘Remember.’_

“Fang can’t remember anything,” Mabel continued. “That’s not how this works. And I know you’ve tried this before but it’s--” 

_‘Lonely.’_

“I know. And you don’t get the same benefit of finding reincarnated souls like Alcor does. But Fang--” 

“But I do remember,” Fang interrupted, giving Mabel a cautious glance as she stepped closer towards the Woodsman. Her mouth was stale. “I do. At first I thought I was imagining things but I think it’s true.” 

Mabel stared at her, brown eyes wide and mouth agape. “But that's not possible.” 

“I know,” Fang relied with a nod.

 _‘Myyyyyzzzaaaar remeeeembeeeer.’_ The Woodsman replied. He gripped her by the shoulder, twiggy fingers digging into her flesh. _‘Waaatch out for Bill. Remember.’_ She placed a delicate hand over his. He was nothing to be afraid of. In a way, he reminded her of Dipper; looking for old and familiar comforts amidst the slings and arrows of passing time. 

“Woodsman,” Mabel said firmly, drawing his attention back towards her. There was a slick wet sheen to her cheeks. She hiccuped. “You need to leave.” Fang didn't even realize Mabel was crying. But it seemed so obvious that she would be. The Woodsman was a reminder of a life that was never hers. 

He let go and pat Fang delicately on the head, the little nubbins of fresh twigs and leaves getting caught in her hair. And then he trudged, each stumpy foot one after the other back into the thick brush of the forest. 

And then nothing but the silence and the birds. Fang shuddered the experience chilling against her skin. 

“You shouldn’t leave without telling us,” Mabel chided, patting her face dry with the sleeve of her sweater. “You’re lucky the Shack decided to follow you. The Woodsman can be possessive of people, unaware that they reincarnate. He could have tried to kidnap you or…” 

“Henry was your... Mabel's husband?” Fang asked abruptly. “Right?” 

Mabel blinked.“What?” 

“That thing back there. That Woodsman. When I look at him I get this name. Henry.” 

Mabel’s lips parted and her usually bright eyes seemed to darken. “So you do remember.” 

“I’ve been remembering for a while now,” Fang whispered. It was like trying to hold water in her hands. Tangible and real for one moment, and then dribbling through her fingers the next. “What happened to him?” 

Mabel sighed, fidgeting with the collar of her sweater as if to hide inside of it. “It’s complicated but Dipper lent some power to Henry when our daughter Willow was kidnapped by cultists. But the power stayed inside of him. We called it the Woodsman and when Henry died they split into 2 beings.” Fang watched Mabel’s expression change, the cracks in her exterior as raw emotion bled through: the confusion and the grief. “When did this start?”

A well of tears and panic clogged at the back of her throat. "I was going to kill him. I had the cultbasher to his head. But then I heard these voices begging me to stop. At first I thought it was nothing but now I wonder if it was my past lives. I started having memories when I came home from the hospital. It just feels like some part of me has been dislodged." 

“Does Dipper know that happened?” 

“No.”

Mabel sighed through her nose. “Then I think it's for the best that you don’t tell him at all. About the Woodsman, your memories, this thing about Bill.” 

“But,” Fang rubbed at her bare arm, counting her goosebumps. “I don’t want to lie to him anymore. Wasn’t that the whole point of this? Trusting each other?” 

“I know,” Mabel replied. “But he’ll freak out and get all obsessive and stupid. He’ll want to talk to the other Mizars and he might hurt you in that process. I just want him to focus on you and not who you used to be. And he doesn’t need to go into Bill conspiracy mode either. So please, don’t tell him. For his sake and yours. It's just one small secret." 

Fang swallowed. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got the prompt "Write about the Woodsman"  
> And so my immediate response to that was to reread every single woodsman fic and scour through the blog just to realize that I still wanted the story to include Fang. I'm not yet at the point where I have good enough ideas about Henry or the triplets, but Fang... she's my baby. I wanted to play up the "intertextuality" of the narrative. Meaning that TAU fans reference each other, a rare thing for fans to do. And TAUathon should be a celebration of that unique, fannish ability.  
> I gave Fang the ability to remember the past exactly for this reason. Because I wanted to tell a story that directly interacted with all the stories that came before it. Not an add on or second thought. Genuine interaction with the other elements of the fandom.  
> And this prompt was perfect for it.


	5. The Record of the Second Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fang seeks help from some experts on Mizar's past and her strange memories

The electronic bell above the doorway chimed. When Fang walked into the building she was immediately hit by a cold rush. Goosebumps bloomed along her arms as she rolled down the sleeves of her black hoodie. As she walked her boots squeaked against the white tile floors with each step. Fang hadn’t returned to the ice cream parlor since the battle with the Exorcists almost just over 2 weeks ago. It was a miracle that it was even allowed to reopen in the same location (or rather, it wasn’t a miracle, but a hint of demonic influence).Truthfully, Fang didn't want to come back. The ice cream parlor made her stomach twist with guilt and her fingers feel hot, like they were slick with blood. It was strange to see it without the floor being slick with blood, ash, and bodies. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the handle of the cultbasher pressed into her palm, the sensation of sweat down her spine, and sharp breath in her lungs. She could still hear labored breath and the sound of metal piercing flesh. But if she thought a little harder she could remember the feeling of Dipper’s jacket bunching up in fingers, the buttons of his shirt pressed against her cheek as he hugged her.

She made her way up to the counter and slid into one of the round stools across from where the rainbow of ice cream flavors was displayed. She drummed her fingers across the top of the plastic shield that protected the ice cream. She read the flavors to herself while she waited. Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, Rocky Road, Orange Dreamsicle, Neapolitan. She didn't have much of a sweet tooth. But Dipper did, and she could easily imagine him becoming paralyzed by the amount of choices offered to him. The thought made her laugh under her breath. 

A couple of footsteps echoed from behind the counter. “I’m sorry!” A familiar voice called from the back. “We’re closed!” 

“That's why I came.” Fang replied. 

Gemma paced over to the counter, rubbing her hands on her vintage inspired apron. Her natural, curly hair sprung around her head like a halo despite her best efforts to pull it back. “I’m really sorry but–” she looked up and gasped at the teenager in black sitting at her counter. “Oh my stars. Fang!” 

At that moment, Tom peeled around the corner and grinned, mustache curling along his upper lip. “Hey! You’re back!” 

Gemma ran around the ice cream counter. She held herself very rigidly in front of Fang, her fingers twitching anxiously. It was clear Tom and Gemma had not yet figured out how to approach Fang. Should they bow? Maybe kneel? Fang was technically one of the most important figures in The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star’s mythology. Not that Fang was entirely sure how to greet them either. Tom and Gemma were the people who saved her life. And now, without the fear for her life, it felt like she was meeting them for the first time. 

“Hi,” Fang replied, sheepishly. A pink blush ran across her cheeks as she hunched her shoulders up. 

Tom looked a little bit like a cartoony carnival barker, with his curly mustache and slicked back brown hair. And the red and white striped apron didn’t help either. It made her laugh, just a little to herself. And Gemma always had a warm glow on her dark cheeks and dark hair with light golden curls running through. They both looked so… normal. 

Gemma said, placing a relieved hand over her chest. “We had no idea if you were even alive. All we saw was the fight starting before we were taken away. We thought maybe the Exorcists had hurt you or that you were taken away. When we were released from custody a few days later, it was like nothing had happened. The shop was clean, as if untouched. We assumed it was all a favor from Alcor, but there was still no sign or mention of you. We watched the news and tried calling the police but nothing came up.” 

Fang didn't want to believe they could be worried for a stranger they had just met. They were only concerned with Mizar. 

Fang blinked. “Oh uhm. Alcor and I were both in bad shape for a while. I was in the hospital for about a week. But we’re both okay now! He’s been taking really good care of me. So has Mabel. Everything is…” 

She wasn’t sure how to describe it. For the first time in her life, Fang felt safe. There was always enough to eat; she didn't have to skate by on frozen foods or whatever she could steal from the nearby convenience store. She didn't have to fear going to Exorcist training anymore. And she had Dipper, the constant reassurance of his presence. 

It would have been wonderful. It not for the memories. 

They came in bursts. She could go days without any, just long enough for her to believe they had stopped. And then one would creep up her spine, flooding her mind like water from a broken damn. The past Mizars were haunting her. Trying to take over her body and push their own thoughts forward. And Fang wanted nothing to do with them. She was tired of living in the shadow of her past lives. She was tired of being compared to them, having to remember what it was like to be them. She just wanted to focus on living her own life: was that too much to ask? 

At first she felt guilty for keeping it a secret. But soon she realized Mabel was right. She and Dipper had only been getting along for a few weeks now. Their relationship was still fresh and new. They needed more time to be together before Fang brought up the memories. Fang needed to be sure he loved her for her, and not Mizar. 

Realizing Tom and Gemma were waiting for her to continue, Fang cleared her throat. “Everything is fine. And I’m happy you’re okay too.” 

Gemma looked around the room, as if watching a fly buzz around. “Is uhm… is Alcor here?” 

Fang instinctively placed a hand to the bright red god's eye that hung around her neck. “No. I’m sorry. He said something about sheering his sheep today?” Truthfully, Fang had intentionally come when she knew he would be out of the house. She didn't like keeping secrets from him, but she knew it was for the best. She couldn't let him find out about her memories. And Tom and Gemma might be the only people who could help her. 

“Tending to a flock of nightmares,” Tom nodded in a contemplative manner while stroking at his moustache. “Though I wouldn’t have expected the term flock to be used so literally.” He returned his attention to Fang, blue eyes settling on her. "So what brings you here, kiddo? Because I doubt it was only for the ice cream," he slapped a hand on the glass covering. 

"I came to ask about Mizar. You mentioned that The Circle tries to keep track of the Mizar cycle.” She gave an innocent shrug. "And I need to know who I am. Not just who Alcor thinks I am." 

Tom thought for a moment and then held up a finger. “I think we have just the thing,” he said, immediately leaping towards the back of the shop where the Circle’s secret meeting room was kept. He appeared just a few moments later with a large book tucked under his arm. Patting its spine, he grinned smugly, “And some of the other chapters thought we were silly for holding onto it.” 

"A book?" Fang asked, a slight dissatisfaction rising in her voice. "Are you sure you don't have a video or something?" 

She had seen printed books before, though they had disappeared thousands of years ago. They kept hundreds in the sanctum, though many considered sacred or forbidden knowledge available only for the Grand Exorcist. Sometimes the trainees would be given a book to translate, which would take hours of hard work only to find it was yet another text about how righteous the angel was. Fang hated them. 

"Nope. Just the book,"Tom said, propping the book up against the glass of the ice cream display. The pages were crinkled and expanding from the torn black cover. There was a single gold star pressed on the front with chipping gold paint. Fang supposed there was something beautiful in its fragility and its old mildew smell. 

Gemma grazed three of her fingers across the book's binding. “This,” she explained, “is everything The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star knows about Mizar. We’ve collected this information for thousands of years. It's called The Record of the Second Star." 

Fang extended two careful fingers, afraid to touch The Record of the Second Star out of fear that it might crumble against her skin. The books the Exorcists’ had were all held together by protection runes. But this book was bare and liable to fall apart. "Can I touch it?" Gemma gave Fang an encouraging nod. She let the pads of her fingers press against the weathered paper and opened to a random page. 

It was layered with clippings of more paper, possibly newspaper. Though Fang wasn’t sure, she’d never seen a newspaper before. They were all dated back thousands of years, before the Exorcists were formed, before the Union of Northwest Nations was even a country. They all displayed static images of a crime scene, bloodied and filled with bodies. There was handwritten ink across the top. Fang always wondered what it was like to write with your hands and not a keypad. Fang squinted at the words. “Most of this is in ancient English.” Fang could read some post-Transcendence English, little words she picked up from translating old Exorcist texts. Words like demon, angel, salvation. But this was beyond her. 

Gemma dug her MagiOrb out from the front pocket of her apron and flicked between the applications. “We use a translator, though some of the more recent entries are easier to understand.” The faint blue holographic screen sprung upwards, an array of white translated words popping up on the screen. 

The title was translated into a thick, chunky text,  _ Mizar the Ferocious.  _

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and turned to another page, displaying a color image of a woman in a pantsuit waving to a crowd. She looked familiar, and the sight of her made Fang cough on hot and dry air–despite the ice cream shop being so cold. They had called her  _ Mizar the Just.  _ There was a man standing behind her with soft curly hair and haunting eyes. Fang could have recognized Dipper anywhere, even disguised as a human. She reached out to graze the picture with her index and middle finger. 

"What’s with the titles?” she asked. “I’ve seen Mizar referred to as the twin star, but never these names.” She flipped to another page, this one mostly empty with the exception of a few notes written in such thick and curly letters. The holoscreen took a moment to process its title,  _ Mizar the Lost.  _ The name was like a melody stuck in her head. 

“We’ve never known Mizar’s true identity. Not until you at least, so each suspected reincarnation is given a title to help separate them,” Gemma explained, her arm brushing Fang’s as she reached out to turn another page.  _ Mizar the Silent.  _ "Of course the majority of these are speculation. Mizar has been rarely seen with Alcor in public." 

Grabbing the pages in a chunk, Fang flipped to the first page of the book– back to her own beginning.  _ Mizar the Gleeful.  _ It was Mabel. Fang didn't need to look at the newspaper clippings to know it was her. The pictures they included were blurry displays of a dark figure with glowing eyes, accompanied by a flash of pink sweater and dark curly hair. The name was so befitting of Mabel. Always happy and colorful. A printed piece of fresh white paper was tacked to the inside:  _ We had the honor to meet who might be an artificial version of the original Mizar. She referred to herself as Mabel and mentioned a dance about a lamb that Alcor used to perform.  _

Fang turned through the pages again and again. She didn't even take time to read each page. She knew who each of these people were. They were trapped beneath the surface of her mortal body. She continued to speed through the pages, paper soft against her finger tips, until the pages stopped. There was a blank piece of paper at the end. With less yellowing and age than the others, but not retaining its perfect crisp and white exterior. 

"It's empty," Fang said. 

"Well," Gemma replied. "That page was set out for the next Mizar. You." 

The nothingness of the blank page stared her down. One day she would be there, alongside all of her incarnations. What would people call her? 

Mizar the Dark, who wore black clothing and shied away from the light. 

Mizar the Betrayer, who lured Alcor into the hands of his enemies. 

Mizar the Name Stealer, who tore his identity from his lips. 

It was like her past lives were trying to mock her. Forcing her to see their memories just so that she would know she wasn't good enough to be Mizar. Her shoulders hunched up around her like a protective barrier. Fang swallowed, her throat painfully dry and scratchy as if coated with a layer of peeling paint. “Have there ever been suspicions that Mizar remembers their past lives. Maybe like a curse or something?" 

Tom shook his head and sat down on the stool next to Gemma's. "Not that we know of. I'm sure if Mizar could remember who they were, this book would be a lot more substantial." 

"Fang," Gemma cooed. "What's this all about? You've shown up out of nowhere asking questions about Mizar. Are you sure everything is okay?" 

Shaking her head, Fang took in a few desperate breaths. The blank page in the book stared back at her, making her feel raw and exposed. Like her past was trying to haunt her. She swallowed, painfully aware of how dry her throat became. "I'm remembering. I remember them. It's like I blink and then I'm someone else." 

Tom shook his head, clearly confused. "I'm sorry. You're remembering who?" 

"Mizar," Fang choked out. "I'm remembering my past lives. It started after I left the hospital. And if it's not a Mizar thing then I don't know what it is." 

Gemma pursed her lips together. "Have you told Alcor? He's a dream demon. He could help you." 

"It's a bad idea. Everything is going so well between us. I don't want to ruin it with more supernatural stuff. What if he decides to focus on the past Mizars? What if he blocks me out of my own head so he can talk to them instead?" Fang didn't realize how quickly she was talking. Her breathing became a heavy pant and she clutched herself at the elbows. "So please, don't try to summon him and tell him. I just need a little more time to figure this out for myself and maybe I can fix it." The ice cream shop was so cold. The air forced a shiver to run through Fang's skin. "Please. Don't tell him." 

Tom and Gemma shared a serious and frightened glance. Fang had just asked them to lie to the being they worshiped. She had already asked so much of them, and now this. They both nodded to each other. "Okay," Gemma said. "We won't tell him. Only because he's still coming out of a dark place. We don't want him to hurt you." 

"Thank you." Fang found herself reverting to old Exorcist habits, sliding off the stool and bowing. 

Reaching over, Tom grabbed black book and handed it to Fang. "You should keep this for now. It might not be entirely accurate, but it might help you learn more about these past lives. In the meantime, I'll do some research. Ask the other factions what they know about Mizar and reincarnation." 

Taking The Record of the Second Star, Fang clutched it to her chest as if it were armor welded around her. "You're being so nice to me. Why? It is because I'm Mizar?" 

"No," Gemma replied in a soft voice. She leaned forward, close enough that Fang could smell the freezer ice and vanilla on her skin. "When I saw you in that alleyway, tired from fleeing the cult that tried to indoctrinate you, it broke my heart. You didn't deserve anything that happened to you. And I don't want you to get hurt again." 

A red hot blush grew underneath Fang's cheeks. Her fingers twitched against the book's flaky binding. Tom and Gemma really did care about her. She cleared her throat, trying to force back any kind of emotion. "Thank you. Not just for the book or for keeping my secret. But for saving my life. I wish I could replay you." She shuffled her feet against the floor, listening to the squeak of her boots on the tile. "I should go. If Alcor comes back and I'm not home, he'll freak out. But I promise I'll come see you as much as I can. Not just to talk about Mizar. But so that we can know each other better. Okay?" 

They nodded, a hopeful twinge in the corner of their mouths. For once, Fang felt reprieve. She was safe with them. 

The bell above chimed again as she left and hurried home. 

\------- 

That night, Fang laid on her bed, flipping through each page of The Record of the Second Star. She held up her MagiOrb, its soft blue glow the only light in the otherwise dark room. She read alongside the translator,  _ Mizar the Silent, Mizar the Protective.  _ Fang kept waiting for the memories to come back. For her vision to suddenly go dark and to wake up somewhere else. But nothing happened. She sighed and flipped to the next page. 

An intense glow formed against the floor, a bright circle appearing on the wood. Fang scrambled in a panic, turning off her MagiOrb and and cramming the book underneath her mattress in the moments before Dipper could appear. She flopped onto the bed quickly, pigtails getting crushed by her pillows, and pulled the covers up to her chest. 

He brushed off a clump of something fluffy but also swirling like a galaxy with flashes of red and purple. Then he coughed, sticking out his tongue and scraping at it with his finger. "You think nightmares wouldn't need to be sheared, but they do. And it's always a huge mess." 

"I take it your day was busy," Fang said, readjusting her position on the bed. She could feel the lump where the book was beneath the thin mattress. A fine divot pressing up against her spine. She'd have to find a new place to hide it. Somewhere that Alcor wouldn't look. 

He pulled another chunk of fuzz from the inside of his shirt collar. "It beats answering summons all day. But the nightmares are so nosy. They keep asking when they get to enter into your dreams and introduce themselves." 

Fang propped herself up on her elbow. "What did you tell them?" 

Dipper grinned with a mouth full of sharp teeth. "That you're allergic to wool. Besides," he paced over and hovered next to her bed. "Your mind is off limits. I made a promise when I gave you that god's eye not to snoop around in your head. And that goes for my familiars too." Her fingers played around the god's eye, the smooth exterior relaxing as her finger tips glossed over it. She was unsure if she felt guilt or relief building up in her stomach. He had no idea she was keeping a secret from him. 

"What about you?" Dipper continued. Using one of his claws he carefully snagged the elastic bands in her pigtails and released her hair to fall at her jaw. "What did you do today?" 

For a moment, she froze, panicked by the notion of the truth. But then she relaxed focusing only on her words. "Nothing much. I went for a walk. And I passed by that ice cream shop from when we fought the Exorcists." She could still feel the book digging into her side. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Go ahead." He stretched out and floated next to her, as if laying on a lawn chair with both his hands tucked behind his head. 

"Do you think you would ever stop caring about me?" 

Dipper paused, unfolding his arms and turning to Fang. "What kind of question is that?" 

Turning her face away, Fang pushed her face into the pillow. "We haven't really known each other very long. And I worry that things will change." 

He had such pretty dark eyes. They seemed to desaturate as he thought, the gold in his irises looking their intensity and becoming dull. "I've loved you for thousands of years. Sure, we've had our differences; and some mutual murder attempts. But that's all behind us now. Nothing is going to change." With a careful hand, heat radiating from his fingers, he brushed some of the loose hair from her face. "You'll always be my Mizar." 

Except it was being Mizar that made her so afraid. She wanted him to see her as Fang, and not a collection of past lives. She leaned into his touch, his warm fingers pressing to her forehead. "And you'll always be my Dipper," she muttered back. He felt so close, but also distant in a way she couldn't understand. Maybe in time she could tell him the truth about the memories. But for now, she just wanted to be close. 


End file.
